my rock, my shield

Need the Feel of You, the Taste of You

Tartaglia pulls Morax into a corner for a quick make-out session only for it to turn into a quickie.

CW: Contains Smut

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"Imagine if the others were to see us."

Tartaglia grunts at Morax's smooth words. "I'd rather not." He nips at Morax's neck, biting his pulse. A soft groan as Morax's head tilts, baring more of that soft skin for better access.

"Katya," murmurs Morax then, "she—"

"Definitely knows this is a usually deserted corridor." A pause as Tartaglia inhales his sharp, earthy scent. "If you can still talk, I'm doing a bad job."

A huff. "Don't take it to heart. I've had eons of—" Morax's mouth clamps shut immediately as Tartaglia grinds his cock deep. A feeble attempt at covering a cry. A moan still drops from his mouth, lost in the space beside Tartaglia's ear. "Fuck," curses Morax.

"I'm trying to." Tartaglia grunts, shifting his weight and adjusting his grip as he holds Morax up against the wall. They're hidden by the curtains. This is a quiet hallway on the far end of the palace. The only rooms here belong to Morax's immediate family, of which he has none.

Still. Katya and Xiao often trace their steps this way on their rounds—particularly if they're looking for either of them. It's only a matter of time before Xiao gets antsy not having his emperor constantly within eyesight, and Katya is the type to collect blackmail material in mostly good fun.

"I'm slipping," hisses Morax. "I'm—hah." He slides down the wall a fraction, Tartaglia's cock impaling him suddenly. They both groan at the feel of it, Morax scrabbling against himself to keep upright.

"You're heavier than I thought you'd be. I should've turned you around instead and fucked you into the wall." Which probably would have been faster, all things considered. Tartaglia could've held him by his hips and pulled him into every thrust instead of awkwardly shuffling around on teetering legs with Morax's back against the wall.

"I'd rather see your face. Besides, like this I can—" Morax curls an arm around Tartaglia's neck, forcing his face into the crook of his neck. Morax turns, licking a line across the apple of his throat before kissing it. "Yes, this is my preferred method of this sordid type of activity."

Tartaglia shudders at the warmth of Morax's breath against his skin. He's teasing him—Morax rarely indulges in semi-public endeavors. Tartaglia was hot and bothered, annoyed to high-heaven by many things. He pulled Morax into this corner just to kiss him senseless, to throw everything else away and just think of the man he loves for a few minutes. But then Morax was equally needy, slipping his hand underneath the hem of Tartaglia's shirt, claws grazing the skin.

And now, Tartaglia has him against the wall, hidden only by a suit of armor, an old tapestry, and the ridiculous layers of silk that Morax insists on wearing. Morax clings to him, claws sharp even through the thick fabric of Tartaglia's top as they claw at his back.

Tartaglia holds him up by the ass, both hands cupping the soft muscle there. His cock is hard and aching, sheathed inside Morax's heat, hastily slicked with Hydro. They roll together awkwardly. Morax raises his hips, meeting short, stuttered thrusts, the tip of Tartaglia's cock pressed insistently against that perfect spot.

"Too many clothes. You're always wearing too many—" It's taken careful maneuvering to even find a way to sink inside without getting tangled up.

Morax laughs. "Well, I wasn't expecting such attention, but then you kissed me, and—ah, there. There!"